11

In most respects, as has been said, Mrs. Lincoln was economical, and took pride in the fact. She purchased supplies carefully and the table was set sparingly, very sparingly; there were just barely enough scraps left to feed the cats. The Lincolns had no dog.

She bought bottle after bottle of perfume, broke the seals, sampled them, and returned them, contending that they were inferior, that they had been misrepresented. She did this so often that the local druggist refused to honor her orders for more. His account-book may still be seen in Springfield with the penciled notations: “Perfume returned by Mrs. Lincoln.”

She frequently had trouble with the tradespeople. For example, she felt that Myers, the iceman, was cheating her with short weights; so she turned on him and berated him in such a shrill, loud voice that neighbors half a block away ran to their doors to look and listen.

This was the second time she had made this accusation, and he swore that he would see her sizzling in hell before he would sell her another piece of ice.

He meant it, and he stopped his deliveries. That was awkward. She had to have ice, and he was the only man in town who supplied it; so, for once in her life, Mary Lincoln humbled herself. But she didn't do it personally: she paid a neighbor a quarter to go downtown and salve over the wound and coax Myers to resume his deliveries.

One of Lincoln's friends started a little newspaper called “The Springfeld Republican.” He canvassed the town, and Lincoln subscribed for it. When the frst copy was delivered at the door, Mary Todd was enraged. What! Another worthless paper? More money thrown away when she was trying so hard to save every penny! She lectured and scolded; and, in orderto pacify her, Lincoln said that he had not ordered the paper to be delivered. That was literally true. He had merely said he would pay for a subscription. He hadn't specifcally said he wanted it delivered. A lawyer's fnesse!

That evening, unknown to her husband, Mary Todd wrote a fiery letter, telling the editor what she thought of his paper, and demanding that it be discontinued.

She was so insulting that the editor answered her publicly in a column of the paper, and then wrote Lincoln, demanding an explanation. Lincoln was so distressed by the publicity that he was positively ill. In humiliation, he wrote the editor, saying it was all a mistake, trying to explain as best he could.

Once Lincoln wanted to invite his stepmother to spend Christmas at his home, but Mary Todd objected. She despised the old folks, and held Tom Lincoln and the Hanks tribe in profound contempt. She was ashamed of them, and Lincoln feared that even if they came to the house she wouldn't admit them. For twenty-three years his stepmother lived seventy miles away from Springfeld, and he went to visit her, but she never saw the inside of his home.

The only relative of his that ever visited him after his marriage was a distant cousin, Harriet Hanks, a sensible girl with a pleasing disposition. Lincoln was very fond of her and invited her to live at his home while she attended school in Springfeld. Mrs. Lincoln not only made a servant of her but tried to turn her into a veritable household drudge. Lincoln rebelled at this, refused to countenance such rank injustice, and the whole thing resulted in a distressing scene.

She had incessant trouble with her “hired girls.” One or two explosions of her fery wrath, and they packed up and left, an unending stream of them. They despised her and warned their friends; so the Lincoln home was soon on the maids' black-list.

She fumed and fussed and wrote letters about the “wild Irish” she had to employ. But all Irish became “wild” when they tried to work for her. She openly boasted that if she outlived her husband, she would spend the rest of her days in a Southern State. The people with whom she had been brought up, back in Lexington, did not put up with any impudence from their servants. If a Negro did not mind, he was sent forthwith to the whipping-post in the public square, to be fogged. One of the Todds' neighbors fogged six of his Negroes until they died.

“Long Jake” was a well-known character in Springfeld at that time. He had a span of mules and an old dilapidated wagon, and he ran what he vaingloriously described as an “express service.” His niece, unfortunately, went to work for Mrs. Lincoln. A few days later, the servant and mistress quarreled; the girl threw off her apron, packed her trunk, and walked out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

That afternoon, Long Jake drove his mules down to the corner of Eighth and Jackson streets and told Mrs. Lincoln that he had come for his niece's baggage. Mrs. Lincoln few into a rage, abused him and his niece in bitter language, and threatened to strike him if he entered her house. Indignant, he rushed down to Lincoln's offce and demanded that the poor man make his wife apologize.

Lincoln listened to his story, and then said sadly:

“I regret to hear this, but let me ask you in all candor, can't you endure for a few moments what I have had as my daily portion for the last ffteen years?”

The interview ended in Long Jake's extending his sympathy to Lincoln and apologizing for having troubled him.

Once Mrs. Lincoln kept a maid for more than two years, and the neighbors marveled; they could not understand it. The explanation was very simple: Lincoln had made a secret bargain with this one. When she firstcame, he took her aside and told her very frankly what she would have to endure; that he was sorry, but it couldn't be helped. The girl must ignore it. Lincoln promised her an extra dollar a week, himself, if she would do so.

The outbursts went on as usual; but with her secret moral and monetary backing, Maria persisted. After Mrs. Lincoln had given her a tongue-lashing, Lincoln would watch his chance and steal out into the kitchen while the maid was alone and pat her on the shoulder, admonishing her:

“That's right. Keep up your courage, Maria. Stay with her. Stay with her.”

This servant afterward married, and her husband fought under Grant. When Lee surrendered, Maria hurried to Washington to obtain her husband's immediate release, for she and her children were in want. Lincoln was glad to see her, and sat down and talked to her about old times. He wanted to invite her to stay for dinner, but Mary Todd wouldn't hear of it. He gave her a basket of fruit and money to buy clothes, and told her to call again the next day and he would provide her with a pass through the lines. But she didn't call, for that night he was assassinated.

And so Mrs. Lincoln stormed on through the years, leaving in her wake a train of heartaches and hatred. At times she behaved as if insane.

There was something a trifle queer about the Todd family; and since Mary's parents were cousins, perhaps this queer streak had been accentuated by inbreeding. Some people—among others, her own physician—feared she was suffering from an incipient mental disease.

Lincoln bore it all with Christ-like patience, and seldom censured her. But his friends weren't so docile.

Herndon denounced her as a “wildcat” and a “she wolf.”

Turner King, one of Lincoln's warmest admirers, described her as “a hellion, a she devil,” and declared that he had seen her drive Lincoln outof the house time after time.

John Hay, as secretary to the President in Washington, called her a short, ugly name that it is best not to print.

The pastor of the Methodist Church in Springfield lived near the Lincoln house. He and Lincoln were friends; and his wife testifed that the Lincolns “were very unhappy in their domestic life, and that Mrs. Lincoln was seen frequently to drive him from the house with a broomstick.”

James Gourley, who lived next door for sixteen years, declared that Mrs. Lincoln “had the devil in her,” that she had hallucinations and carried on like a crazy woman, weeping and wailing until she could be heard all over the neighborhood, demanding that some one guard the premises, swearing that some rough character was going to attack her.

Her outbursts of wrath grew more frequent, more fiery, with the passing of time. Lincoln's friends felt deeply sorry for him. He had no home life, and he never invited even his most intimate companions to dine with him—not even men like Herndon and Judge Davis. He was afraid of what might happen. He himself avoided Mary as much as possible, spending his evenings spinning yarns with the other attorneys down at the law library or telling stories to a crowd of men in Diller's drugstore.

Sometimes he was seen wandering alone, late at night, through unfrequented streets, his head on his chest, gloomy and funereal. Sometimes he said, “I hate to go home.” A friend, knowing what was wrong, would take him to his house for the night.

No one knew more than Herndon about the tragic home life of the Lincolns; and this is what Herndon had to say on pages 430—434 of the third volume of his Lincoln biography:

Mr. Lincoln never had a confidant, and therefore never unbosomed himself to others. He never spoke of his trials to me or, so far as I knew, to any of his friends. It was a great burden to carry, but he bore it sadly enough and without a murmur. I could always realize when he was in distress, without being told. He was not exactly an early riser, that is, he never usually appeared at the office till about nine o'clock in the morning. I usually preceded him an hour. Sometimes, however, he would come down as early as seven o'clock—in fact, on one occasion I remember he came down before daylight. If, on arriving at the office, I found him in, I knew instantly that a breeze had sprung up over the domestic sea, and that the waters were troubled. He would either be lying on the lounge looking skyward, or doubled up in a chair with his feet resting on the sill of a back window. He would not look up on my entering, and only answered my “Good morning” with a grunt. I at once busied myself with pen and paper, or ran through the leaves of some book; but the evidence of his melancholy and distress was so plain, and his silence so significant, that I would grow restless myself, and finding some excuse to go to the court-house or elsewhere, would leave the room.

The door of the office opening into a narrow hallway was half glass, with a curtain on it working on brass rings strung on wire. As I passed out on these occasions I would draw the curtain across the glass, and before I reached the bottom of the stairs I could hear the key turn in the lock, and Lincoln was alone in his gloom. An hour in the clerk's office at the court-house, an hour longer in a neighboring store having passed, I would return. By that time either a client had dropped in and Lincoln was propounding the law, or else the cloud of despondency had passed away, and he was busy in the recital of an Indiana story to whistle off the recollections of the morning's gloom. Noon having arrived I would depart homeward for my dinner. Returning within an hour, I would find him still in the office, although his home stood but a few squares away, —lunching on a slice of cheese and a handful of crackers which, in my absence, he had brought up from a store below. Separating for the day at five or six o'clock in the evening, I would still leave him behind, either sitting on a box at the foot of the stairway, entertaining a few loungers, or killing time in the same way on the court-house steps. A light in the office after dark attested his presence there till late along in the night, when, after all the world had gone to sleep, the tall form of the man destined to be the nation's President could have seen strolling along in the shadows of trees and buildings, and quietly slipping in through the door of a modest frame house, which it pleased the world, in a conventional way, to call his home.

Some persons may insist that this picture is too highly colored. If so, I can only answer, they do not know the facts.

Once Mrs. Lincoln attacked her husband so savagely, and kept it up so long, that even he— “with malice toward none; with charity for all” —even he lost his self-control, and seizing her by the arm, he forced her across the kitchen and pushed her toward the door, saying: “You're ruining my life. You're making a hell of this home. Now, damn you, you get out of it.”

11

据说，大多数情况下，林肯夫人是十分节俭的，并以此为傲。她采购日常所需时总是十分谨慎，他们家餐桌上的食物也少得可怜，残羹剩饭也就只够小猫舔上一两口，因此林肯家当然也不养狗。

但林肯夫人却一瓶接一瓶地买香水，拆开封口试一试，再退回去，还强词夺理地说这些香水是次品，与店家的描述不符。她经常退货，最后弄得当地的药房老板不愿再接受她的订单。那本用铅笔标注着“林肯夫人退回的香水”的账本，现在也许还在春田市。

林肯夫人频繁和商贩们闹矛盾。例如，她认为卖冰的迈尔斯缺斤少两，于是对着迈尔斯大发脾气，大声地训斥他。她的声音十分尖，穿透力十足，弄得半个街区的街坊纷纷跑到自家门口看热闹。

这已是迈尔斯第二次受到林肯夫人的斥责了，于是他发誓，哪怕她热得浑身咝咝冒烟，也决不再卖一块冰给她。

他说到做到，不再给林肯夫人送货。事情一下子变得尴尬起来。她需要冰块，而迈尔斯是镇上唯一提供冰块的商贩，于是玛丽·林肯第一次放低了姿态。但她并未亲自道歉，而是花了二十五美分请邻居替她去了一趟市中心，安抚哄劝迈尔斯继续卖冰给她。

林肯的一位朋友办了一份名叫《春田市共和党人》的报纸，并在市里四处宣传。林肯订了一份。可是当第一份报纸送到林肯家的时候，玛丽·托德勃然大怒。什么？又是一份没用的报纸？她在拼了命地省钱，他却把钱往外扔！玛丽如演讲般地咒骂着。为了平息她的怒火，林肯说他并没有让他们把报纸送到家里来。严格来说，这是实话。他只是答应订一份报纸，但并未特别要求送报上门。这就是律师惯用的技巧。

那天晚上，在林肯不知情的情况下，玛丽·托德给编辑写了一封言辞激烈的信，说明了自己对这份报纸的看法，并提出不再订阅。

编辑觉得受到了极大的侮辱，于是在报纸上公开发表了回信，并写信给林肯，要求他做出解释。这封公开信让林肯十分痛苦。为此，他还生了一场病。他十分屈辱地给编辑回信，尽他所能地解释这只是一场误会。

林肯曾想将他的继母接到家里过圣诞节，但玛丽·托德拒绝了。她看不起林肯的继母，也看不起汤姆·林肯和汉克斯家族的人。她以有这些亲戚感到羞耻。林肯也担心即便将父母接到家里来，玛丽也不会承认他们。于是二十三年来，他的继母一直住在距春田市七十英里的地方。每次都是林肯去看她，而她根本没有到过林肯的家。

林肯婚后唯一来家里做过客的亲戚是一位名叫哈丽特·汉克斯（Harriet Hanks）的远房表妹。她是一个懂事又乖巧的姑娘，林肯很喜欢她，于是当她来春田市上学的时候，林肯便邀请她住在自己家。林肯夫人不仅把她当用人一样使唤，还试图把家务都扔给她做。这一次，林肯极其反对玛丽的做法，认为这极端不公平。整件事到后来闹得十分不愉快。

玛丽总是不断和女佣起冲突。她请了很多个女佣，但每个都干不长。她那猛烈的怒火爆发了一两次后，女佣们便收拾东西离开了。她们鄙视玛丽，还以此告诫自己的朋友。很快，林肯家便上了女佣们的黑名单。

玛丽气得直冒烟，小题大做地给人写信，斥责她雇佣的“野蛮的爱尔兰人”根本不懂规矩。但是，只要给她干活儿，所有爱尔兰人都会变成“野蛮人”。她曾公开夸口说如果她比丈夫活得时间长，就搬去南方度过余生。在列克星敦，抚养她长大的那些人可不会容忍用人的任何冒失行为。如果黑奴不专心做事就会立刻被拉去广场，绑在鞭笞刑柱上任主人鞭挞。托德家的一个邻居曾经将六个黑奴鞭笞至死。

“高个子杰克”在当时是春田市的著名人物。他有几头骡子和一辆破旧的马车，经营着自称为“快递服务”的生意。他的侄女很不幸地成了林肯夫人的女佣。几天后，女佣和女主人大吵了一架。女佣扔掉了围裙，收拾了行李，头也不回地摔门而去。

当天下午，高个子杰克赶着骡子去了第八大街和杰克逊大街的拐角处，向林肯夫人拿回侄女留下的行李。林肯夫人大发脾气，用恶毒的语言狠狠地羞辱了他和他的侄女，还威胁说，如果杰克进来，就狠狠地打他一顿。杰克非常气愤，冲到了林肯的办公室，要求这个可怜的男人让他的太太道歉。

林肯听完了事情的来龙去脉后悲伤地说：“听到这样的事我感到很抱歉。但请允许我坦率地问你一句，这样的事情我每天都要面对，我已经忍受了十五年，你连一会儿都忍不了吗？”

他们的谈话以杰克对林肯表示同情并向林肯道歉自己打扰了他而结束。

不过曾有一个女佣在林肯夫人手下工作了两年多。对此，邻居们十分不解，认为这是个奇迹。原因其实很简单：林肯私下和这个女佣达成了一项协议。她第一天到林肯家的时候，林肯将她拉到一边，坦诚地告诉她接下来将要遭遇些什么。林肯向她表达了自己的同情，并告诉她自己无能为力，她必须得忍。如果她能做到，林肯就每周再补贴她一美金。

玛丽一如既往地向用人发脾气，但在林肯精神和金钱的秘密支持下，玛丽亚坚持了下来。每次林肯夫人骂完玛丽亚，林肯都会找机会趁玛丽亚一个人在厨房的时候偷偷溜进去，拍拍她的肩膀，鼓励她说：“就是这样，玛丽亚。鼓起勇气，继续干下去，继续干下去。”

后来这位女佣结婚了。她的丈夫在格兰特麾下服役。李将军投降后，玛丽亚立刻赶到了华盛顿，为丈夫申请即刻退役，因为她和孩子们十分需要他。林肯很高兴能再次见到玛丽亚。他们坐在桌边，聊起了过去的事情。林肯本想留她吃晚饭，但玛丽·托德不同意。于是林肯给了玛丽亚一篮子水果和一些钱买衣服，让她第二天打电话给他，并承诺给她一张通行证。但是她并没有打电话，因为当天晚上，林肯被暗杀了。

林肯夫人脾气多年来一直没变，因此常常招人痛恨。有的时候，她的行为就像疯子一样。

托德家的人本就有些古怪，而玛丽的父母是表兄妹，或许是近亲结婚加重了这种古怪的个性。总之，很多人，包括她的医生，都认为她患有先天性精神病。

林肯用基督徒般的耐心忍受着这一切，几乎从不责怪玛丽，但他的朋友们却没那么好说话。

赫恩登公开抨击玛丽是“野猫”和“母狼”。

林肯最疯狂的追随者特纳·金（Turner King）称玛丽是“一个该下地狱的恶人，一个女魔鬼”。他声称自己亲眼看见玛丽将林肯一次又一次地逐出家门。

华盛顿总统府秘书约翰·海（John Hay）给她起的绰号更难听，在这里还是不说为好。

春田市卫理公会教堂的牧师就住在林肯家附近。他和林肯是朋友。他的妻子证实林肯夫妇“家庭十分不和睦，总是看见林肯夫人拿着一把扫帚将丈夫赶出家门”。

詹姆斯·高莱（James Gourley）与林肯做了十六年邻居，他说林肯夫人“内心住着魔鬼”，说她总是出现幻觉，表现得像个疯婆子，一直哭闹到所有邻居都听见为止。她还要求有人守着她的房子，因为她觉得有坏人要袭击她。

随着时间的推移，她发脾气越来越频繁，越来越剧烈。林肯的朋友们都为他感到深深的难过。他没有家庭生活，也从来没有请哪怕是赫恩登和戴维斯法官那样的密友去家里吃过饭，因为他害怕会出事。他自己也尽可能地回避玛丽，晚上要么和其他律师在法律图书馆里聊天，要么在迪勒的药店里和一群男人讲故事。

有的时候，人们会看到林肯深夜时仍独自徘徊在人迹罕至的街道，头垂到胸口，神情阴郁而哀伤。有的时候他会说“我厌恶回家”，于是某个知情的朋友便会将他带回家过夜。

没有谁比赫恩登更了解林肯悲惨的家庭生活。赫恩登在自己写的《林肯传》第三卷第四百三十页至四百三十四页这样写道：

林肯先生从未有过知己，因此也从未把全部心事向别人倾诉过。他从不和我说他的那些伤脑筋的事情。而且据我所知，他也没有和其他朋友提起过。这样的负担非常沉重，但他悲伤地忍受着一切，一个字也不说。即便没有人告诉我，我也总是能感觉到他正处在痛苦中。他并不是一个喜欢早起的人，通常每天上午九点左右，他才来到办公室。我一般比他提前一个小时到。但有的时候，他七点就到了——有一次我记得天没亮他就到了。如果我走进办公室发现他已经在里面了，我便立刻知道他家中的海洋遭遇了风暴，正浪花涌动。他不是躺在躺椅上望着窗外，就是缩在椅子里，把脚搁在后窗的窗台上。看见我进门，他也不抬头，只是当我向他说“早上好”的时候咕哝一声作为回应。见他如此，我便立刻使自己忙碌起来，要么写写弄弄，要么翻看资料。但他的忧郁和痛苦是那么明显，他的沉默让人心惊，于是我自己也焦躁不安起来，只得找个借口离开，要么去法庭，要么去其他地方。

办公室的门是半玻璃的，朝向一条狭窄的走廊。门顶端有一条挂着铜圈的铁丝，铜圈下面垂着一块帘子。遇到这种情况，我出门时总会拉上帘子。我走楼梯下楼的时候，总会听见办公室锁门的声音，于是林肯就这样独自一人沉浸在悲伤中。我通常在法院办事员那儿待上一个小时，接着又在周边的商店里逛一个小时，然后便回去了。等到我回去的时候，要么客户已经上门，林肯正为他提供法律方面的咨询；要么愁云已经消散，林肯正背诵着一篇印第安纳故事来释放早上积攒在心中的阴郁。中午的时候，我回家吃饭。一个小时后我回到办公室，常会发现他还在那里，吃着趁我不在时从楼下店里买来的奶酪和薄脆饼干——尽管从办公室穿过几个街区就能到他家了。晚上五点或六点下班后，他依旧落在我后面，要么坐在楼梯下的箱子上逗游手好闲的路人开心，要么坐在法院门前的台阶上以同样的方式消磨时间。天黑之后，办公室的灯光一直亮着——他也一直待在办公室里。直到深夜，全世界都入睡后，那个注定成为这个国家的总统的高个子男人才会离开办公室，沿着街道上树木和大楼的阴影，缓缓地走着，最后悄悄溜进一栋高矮适中的房子——一个人们通常称之为“家”的地方。

也许有人会说，这个画面太夸张了。对此我只能说，他们不了解实情。

有一次，林肯夫人对丈夫的攻击实在是太残暴、太没完没了了，以至于就连“对谁都没有恶意，唯以怜悯对待众生”的林肯也失控了。他抓住她的手臂，将她从厨房里拽到大门口，说：“你毁了我的一生！你把这个家变成了地狱。现在，去你的，给我滚出去！”